Miserable
by RyansKid
Summary: I am beyond life. I am a force of nature. I am the desert. Please feel free to R/R. Oh and I dont own any of the characters in this story.
1. Who I Am

Miserable. That's the best way I can describe my life. I won't say it's tragic, I'm not nearly as self-absorbed as that. Besides, this is Gunsmoke. Everyone's life holds more than a fair share of tragedy.

I slam on the brakes of the jeep. There it is, right in front of me. There's the grave.

His grave.

I start digging.

I was born in July, I'm not exactly sure when. Time has a way of mashing together, day into months, months into years here on Gunsmoke. It's even worse with my line of work. This probably isn't that big of a surprise, but I never knew my father. My mother never gave me specifics, which makes me think she didn't even know who he was.

I can't remember much of my early life. I don't even know my name. My mom would come and go as she pleased, often leaving me to fend for myself. When she was home she was so high out of her mind she wasn't of any help anyway. I would do whatever it took to feed and clothe myself. I would lie. Cheat. Steal. And on more than one occasion, kill in order to survive. Now I know it's hard to believe, a little boy killing another little boy for food. But a person's instinct to survive is an amazing, and sometimes terrible thing.

I guess when I hit my early teens my mother grew tired of me. I don't know how you can tire of somebody you seem every few months, but she tired of me none the less. Though looking back on it, she probably did it because she was ashamed of what I had become. Of what her actions had led me to become. A killer.

Then again, maybe she just did it for the money.

Regardless of her motives, she ended up taking me to one of the many saloons that infested July in those days and sold me into slavery. She sold me, her own flesh and blood, for fifteen double dollars.

Not even enough to buy her next fix.

I don't know how much time passed while I was in that brothel. It felt like eternity stacked upon eternity. I try not to think about it too much. Not because the memories of the abuse I suffered shames me, or makes me sad, or makes me angry. But because I don't like to think about how weak I once was. If I knew back then what I know today, if I had all my training all that long time ago…well I would have ripped the dick off of the first man who tried to put it inside my mouth.

But needless to say, time passed. My life fell into a vicious cycle of violence, drugs, and sexual abuse. I became addicted to the same trash my mother had been addicted to. The brothel never paid me for my service since I was a slave. So I used to play darts during the day. I would bet money on the games in order to get enough cash to get my fix. I was the best dart thrower in July, nobody could even touch me. I got a bullseye every single throw.

I remember the day he came into my life. My teacher.

I had just taken a few double dollars off of another sorry sap when he called me over to him. I was used to men beckoning me over, offering drinks, drugs, money, all sorts of thing. But this one was different. He wore a large duster on his head, obscuring his face from view, and a coat that seemed to take the color of whatever was around him. Sort of like some kind of camouflage.

"You have good aim boy."

"Yeah, yeah mister. I know. So listen, its twenty double dollars for a blowjob. One hundred gets you everything."

"I am interested in you boy. But not in that sense. Give me you hands."

"Handjobs are ten mister."

"No boy. Give me your hands. Let me see them."

He grabbed my wrists and pulled me towards him. I was about to yell out to the owner, who was also the bartender and my master, but something about the man made me hesitate. He ran his fingers over my palms, studying the contours and line carefully. It was like he was looking for something, something that went beyond my hands. Finally he stopped looking and let his hand drop to his side.

"Finally…"

He let out a heavy sigh and stood up. He grabbed me by the wrist and began walking towards the door.

"Hey mister what the hell are you doing. Hey let go of me. Let go of me I said!"

He was a skinny guy, but he grabbed hold of me with more force than anyone ever had.

"Boss! Boss! This guy is stealing me! BOSS!"

The bartender pulled a shotgun out from under the counter and pointed it at the man.

"Where the hell do you think you're going with my property buddy?"

"I'm taking the boy."

Faster than light my boss was dead. A bullet hole drilled right between his eyes. I never even saw the man reach for his gun, yet there he stood, gun in hand, smoke billowing from the barrel. Then he let go of me and knelt down and looked me hard in the face.

"Listen boy, and listen well for I will only repeat myself once. If you come with me I will teach you things most men can only dream of. You will be more than human. More precise and more deadly than the best rifle. You will be like the desert. Or you can stay here for the rest of your life. You can stay and be a cum dumpster for this trash. Choose."

I saw the look in his eyes, and I heard the truth in his words. This man could make me more than I ever hoped to be. He could offer me a life beyond life.

I took his offer. Never looked back.

I hear the shovel clang against metal. I get down on my hands and knees and dig the rest out with my hands. Here it is. It's so beautiful. Even the duster and jacket are here. The rifle will take some work, someone shot it up pretty bad. Thankfully I can scavenge all the parts I need from the jeep.

The Gung-Ho Guns are dead. My motives are my own. I will kill Vash the Stampede, and anyone he associates himself with. I'm going to do this for no other reason than I am talented enough to do so. I'm talented enough because of him. Because of my teacher.

I have a name now. It's not my own, but I will take it in memory of him. Because like he, I am a force of nature.

I am the desert.

I am Caine the Longshot.


	2. Waiting

The waiting.

That's always the hardest part. I find it kind of funny because waiting is what I do best. I'm even better at it than my teacher was. It took years of training, literally my entire life from when I left the saloon to now in order to get like this. But now I can wait for days, weeks even depending on the conditions. My body shuts down. I don't feel anything.

Not hunger.

Not thirst.

Not pain.

And waiting is what I've been doing since I finished digging up teacher. Despite all the things my body can take, walking miles across the desert is still a dangerous task. So now I must bide my time and wait until someone happens across my path.

Teacher had a little hovel miles out in the desert. That's where he took me.

"So where do we start teacher? Are you going to teach me how to shoot a gun? How to drop a guy lightning quick like you did my piece of shit boss?"

"In time boy."

"Well then what the hell am going to do?"

"You're going to learn how use your eyes and your ears. You're going to learn how to judge the wind, the feel of the desert."

"Who cares about the desert. I want to learn how to use a gun."

That's the first time he ever hit me. He backhanded me so hard across the face that he broke my jaw. Knocked three teeth out too.

"Listen close boy. You have to respect the desert. He's like a living, breathing person. The desert can show you things, talk to you. It can break you down in to nothing, or if you follow my instructions, make you more than yourself. It can lend you all of the terrible power it has. You just have to listen to what it's saying."

That was the last time teacher ever had to hit me.

We only spent a day or two out in the desert the first time. Just long enough for me to learn about the plants and the animals. The sun and the sky. The moon and the stars. In two days time, he had taught me everything he knew about the nature of Gunsmoke. Of course it would take me years to be able to hone all that knowledge in order for me to harness it like I do today. But those first two days were the most important in all my years of training.

When we got back I was starving. The only thing he had given me while we were in the desert was water. But maybe that was teacher's plan when he hit me.

"Well boy…seeing that your jaw is broken I think now is the best time to start what will be the most difficult thing you have to learn. I'm not going to give you any food for a week. You'll have to learn to get by on water. Don't drink too much though…eventually I'm going to take that away too."

I had some awful weeks when I was living at the saloon. Weeks where I would be beaten all day, every day. Beaten so badly I couldn't perform my duties. And if I didn't perform, I didn't get fed. But all of those weeks combined paled in comparison to that one.

It felt like my stomach was turning itself inside out. It was the most terrible thing I ever had to go through. Then when the week was up he took the water away. Then it got even worse.

I would lay there at night, doubled over in pain, howling in agony and begging teacher for food. Now many may not believe me when I say this, but every night, every single night, teacher would sit on the floor by me. He would lay my head in his lap and hold my hand.

"Fight through it. It's all in your head. You're going to be ok."

Make no mistake, he was a cold blooded killer. He had no qualms with killing men, women, or children. But he was still a good man. At least as good as can be expected. He was more of a parent to me than my addict mother ever was.

And just like that it was over. I fought through all of the pain and anguish and I just went numb. I don't know how I did it. I don't even think teacher knows how. It's just something a select few people are able to do. The Gung Ho Guns were able to do it, and I'm sure Vash the Stampede could to.

But no one can wait like I can.

I see dust clouds on the horizon. Someone is coming.

I can't share with you all of the rigorous hours teacher and I spent practicing with the rifle and the pistol. Mind you it isn't because those hours were pointless or boring. It's because teacher made me swear to never tell another living soul, excluding the boy or girl I one day decide to train.

He taught me how do draw my weapon faster than it takes a human being to blink. How to shoot the wings of a fly from miles away. Ten is the furthest I can be away and still get the wings, but I still get the fly from twenty. Then he taught me something he said would allow me to win any gunfight.

"This is something that only you are going to be able to do. Something not even the best gunfighters in the world will be able to overcome."

It took me five whole years to perfect it. That's one of the few spaces of time I actually remember because it was so difficult for me to learn. Five…long…years. But at the end I could do it.

I could fire bullets around objects.

It all had to do with muscle control. Muscle control on an insanely minute degree. The motion of the arm combined with the firing of certain nerves in the finger tips, on top of perfect timing. It is the deadliest skill in my repertoire.

Finally he said I was ready to be put to the test.

"You go now. Go out into the desert and wait. I don't care how long you have to be out there. You go and you kill the first person unlucky enough to come into your sights."

With that he got into his jeep and started it up.

"Wait. Teacher! Teacher…where are you going? How will you know if I do it or not?"

"Trust me boy. I'll know."

We stared at each other, right in the eyes, for a good thirty seconds. It was the longest me and him had ever looked directly at each other. I knew that this was his way of saying goodbye. He drove off after that. I never saw him again.

The dust clouds are getting closer.

So I went out into the desert and I waited. I don't know how long. Like I said, hours, days, months…they all mash together here on Gunsmoke. Especially in my line of work. But regardless of how long I waited, eventually someone came.

It was a big truck, and it was packed full of people. It looked like one big, disgustingly happy family. A family that I used to dream of having when I was a little boy. I was going to enjoy it. I was going to revel in it. I was going to make it the single best moment of my life, splattering that family's brains all over the sand.

I checked my rifle, drew in a breath, and tightened my body up. Shoot the driver first, cause the truck to crash, then pick them all off one by one. I wasn't even that far away from them. It was going to be so easy.

But as I moved my sights along the truck to the cab I saw something that shook me down to my very core. There staring out of the passenger side window was a teenage girl. A girl with the most piercing blue eyes I had ever seen. To this day I've never seen a pair so blue. But what shook me wasn't the color of her eyes.

It's what they were staring at.

This girl was looking right at me. I blinked once, then again. Shook my head to see if I was imagining it. But no matter what I did she just kept staring. Then even worse than her staring, she stuck her hand at the window and waved.

I suppose it was surprise more than anything. Shock that despite all of my training, despite all I knew, something like that had actually happened. I kept watching that girl, and kept staring in her direction even after the truck had disappeared over the horizon.

Needless to say, the next person who crossed my path wasn't so lucky. I had fun with that one. She was a woman, an old woman. I flipped her truck with a bullet through the front axle then took off both her arms with rounds to her shoulders before putting the kill shot between her eyes.

I know teacher always said not to play with your targets. It's supposed to be one shot, one kill. But I had to let off a little steam. After I was done I started walking. Eventually I got a ride with a group of migrant farm workers who took me to a small town. From there I started doing mercenary work. Bounty hunting, contract murder, bank robberies.

That how it went for awhile until a man came to my door. He was a bum from the looks of him. He came and delivered me a letter, then promptly stuck a gun in his mouth and blew his brains out.

The letter told me that, as per my teacher's agreement, I was to be notified of his death and provided with all of the information surrounding his demise including where he was last sent on assignment. The letter was signed L.B.

And that is where I find myself now. The dust clouds are here. I step in front of the jeep and motion the driver to stop.

"Hey there buddy! What the hell are you doing!"

"I need your vehicle."

"Sorry buddy, I don't take hitchhikers. This planet is dangerous enough without picking up sketchy fellas like yourself up in the middle of the desert."

"I need your vehicle. This is your last chance."

"Now listen you asshole, I already told…"

I throw his lifeless body out on to the ground. The desert will take him now.

I warned him.

Now I'm driving. I have to go to July.

I have to go to Vash the Stampede.


	3. Once

July.

It was a pretty place once. As pretty as any on Gunsmoke can be. But like any place on Gunsmoke, the beauty still hid an underbelly of sin. A wallowing pit of drugs, sex, and murder. The wallowing pit that my teacher pulled me out of.

It was a pretty place once.

But that was quite some time ago. That was before Vash the Stampede came and blew everything to hell. The Humanoid Typhoon. The Sixty Billion Double Dollar Man. Mankind's First Localized Disaster. He rolled into town and destroyed everything, under somewhat mysterious circumstances from what I understand.

I can't say I'm to broke up about it.

But after the Humanoid Typhoon had left people started coming back. Slowly at first, only one or two lowlifes at a time. Then after a while they started coming in droves. Four or five families a week would show up and pitch tents and start to work on little wooden houses and little general store and the like.

I figured that my mother was incinerated in whatever he used to wipe this place off the map. But just for my own personal satisfaction I decided to do some checking around. I went to the people would know for sure where to find her, assuming she was still somewhere to be found.

I went to the dealers and the pushers.

I didn't know her name which isn't that much of a surprise, I didn't even know my own name until a few days ago. The only thing I had to go one was her physical appearance, and even that was hard for me because she was around so little. It took me a little while, and even though I wasn't expecting my search to yield any results, I was quite happy when one of the dealers knew where I could find her.

She was living in a small shack behind a whore house, and from what the dealer had told me about her, it didn't sound as if she was working there. I walked around the back of the saloon and entered the small wooden lean-to. That a human being could actually live in such a place was beyond my comprehension. It smelled of something. Something I couldn't quite identify. Like a mix of feces and despair. I found a nice dark corner and I sat.

And I waited.

Towards the end of the day she finally came home. The years had not been kind to my mother. Nor had the drugs. One of her legs was paralyzed, she dragged it behind her like a gimp. And her face was aged beyond recognition. But even behind the wrinkles, behind the scars, behind all of it, you could tell that she had been beautiful once.

She had been beautiful once.

"Who's there?"

It was only then did I get a look at her eyes. They were glazed over with a white film. She was blind.

"I can hear you God damn it. Now out with it! Who's there?"

"It's me."

"Me? I don't know any me's. Now listen, the whores are around the front. I just scrub floors. Get the hell out of my house."

"You had a boy once. Didn't you? A son."

I saw the tears well up in her eyes. She wrung her hands like the nervous old woman she was. There was something in her eyes, but I couldn't tell what it was. Fear? Regret? Grief? I couldn't tell.

"You…you know of my son. Of my boy? You have news of my little…"

"Yes. He wanted to let you know what had become of him."

"What then. Please, please sir! Please tell me."

"You little boy was saved. He was dragged out of that hell hole you left him to die in. Dragged out by a teacher. And that man would teach him things you can not even begin to understand."

"He has a good life then? He is good?"

"As good as can be expected here on Gunsmoke."

The old woman had tears rolling down her face now. And a smile that reached from ear to ear. She walked forward and grasped my hands. She smelt like alcohol. And death.

"Where? Where is my son?"

"He is here. In July."

Then she let go of my hands. She stared at my face, or at least her eye were pointed that direction. She backed away and started to wring her hands again. Then she stepped back towards me and put her hands on my face. As she ran her fingers across it she let out a low guttural noise before dropping to her knees. She grabbed at my ankles and brought me down with her.

"My boy! Oh my boy you've come back. You've come back."

"Yes mother. I had to you see. I had to see you one more time. One last time."

She wrapped her arms around me and buried her head in my chest.

"Please son. Please forgive me. Please forgive me my boy. You don't know how hard it was for me."

"No mother I don't. But it's ok now. Everything is going to be alright."

I wrapped my arms around her. I stroked her hair, what little was left, and hummed slowly to her. I put my hands around her head and pulled her in close. I held her head tight against my chest. I held it there as hard as I could.

"Shh now mother. It's ok now. Everything is going to be alright."

She tried to struggle. She feebly scratched at my face and kicked her scrawny little legs. It one like took a few minutes. Then she was gone.

July.

It was a pretty place once.


	4. An Ending

Today.

It's just a word for most people. Just something that they say. Today is never as good as yesterday. Today never holds as much hope as tomorrow. Everyone takes today for granted. But what if yesterday wasn't as good as today? What if you didn't know if tomorrow was going to come? You would think people on Gunsmoke would put a little more stock in today.

Today. It's just a word for most people.

But for me, today is everything. Today is the single most important day of my life. Today is the consummation of all those long periods of time I spent out in the desert, both alone and with my teacher. It was like my entire life I had been waiting for this today. For today.

Waiting.

No one can wait like I can.

You would think that someone with a sixty billion double dollar bounty on his head would lay a little low. You would think. But it proved no challenge for me to find him. I just sat in the main square of the town and watched all the little people walk by. And sure enough after I had watched enough, I just saw him walking by. He looked exactly like he did in the wanted poster. A red trench coat, golden blonde hair, and tiny little sunglasses.

And what pleased me even more was who was with him. Vash was walking around the town with a man and a woman, no doubt very close to his heart. The man looked strikingly similar to him, though with shorter, lighter hair and a much more serious countenance. They looked so much alike. A brother maybe? Yes. Yes that was it.

The woman was of particular interest to me. She was short, almost miniature compared to the two towering men who walked on either side of her. She had a sort of mousy look about her, but she pulled it off well and was very attractive. But more interesting to me than her looks was that she was holding hands with the Humanoid Typhoon. I might be able to inflict even more pain on Vash the Stampede then I originally has thought.

I followed them back to their little home, sticking close to the buildings. Looking but not looking. Not even someone as skilled as Vash knew I was watching. They lived in a modest two story house on the western edge of the city. As far as I could tell only the three of them lived there.

I set up my kit in a building a block or two away. The people who owned the home were very nice. Very trusting. It was a pity I had to kill them. They were very, very nice.

Now of course I could have set up my rifle a good mile away from the city and use the heat vision on my scope to kill them anyway. But that was so impersonal. And my reasons for wanting to hurt Vash the Stampede were very personal. I had also heard Vash had a code about killing people, even those trying 

to harm him. So being close to all the innocent people certainly gave me an advantage. I set up my thing and I waited.

They came home around the middle of the afternoon. It looked like they had been grocery shopping. How quaint. It's funny how a mass murderer could be living such a cute, perfect little life. I was going to blow it all to hell. Just like he had blown this city to hell all those years ago.

What was I saying? Was I even hearing the shit spewing forth from the corners of my mind? What do I care about this God forsaken city. It was nothing but a great black pit that deserved to be wiped off the face of this ugly, desolate little planet.

"Calm yourself."

I slowed my breathing. Closed my eyes. Focus. Focus. Focus. Focus.

Focus.

I looked down the barrel of my gun. Down through the sights, seeing with eyes that could see miles and miles. I looked through the window, the kitchen window I think, and I watched as the three of them walked back and forth, back and forth. I would take out the serious looking one first. For some reason I felt like he was much more dangerous than Vash or the woman. Finally he stopped in front of the window.

Focus.

Then as I was moving to pull the trigger another figure walked across the window. It was a woman, of that much I was certain. She had long brown hair, and she was tall. Very tall. She removed the large coat she was wearing and turned around towards the window. She was gorgeous. Breathtakingly beautiful, well endowed, with the prettiest set of eyes I had ever seen.

No.

I had seen those eyes before. There's only one set of eye that I had ever seen that were that blue. I picked my head up and shook. I closed my eyes hard. I was imagining things. There was no possible way.

But when I dropped my eyes back down through the scope there was no doubt. This was the same girl who had seen me laying there in the desert that long time ago. And just like that long time ago, she saw me.

I don't know if it was the sunlight reflecting off of my scope or if it was simply her power of perception. But she saw me. And even worse than last time, even worse than waving at me, she pointed me out.

I began raining shots down on the little house. To hell with my training. To hell with this miserable place. To hell with those God damned eyes. I nearly tore that house in two with my bullets. When I finally ran dry I jumped out of the window and ran across the street.

And just liked I had anticipated the serious man came running into the house, gun drawn.

"Vash he isn't…"

I detonated a small explosive device I had left in the upstairs bedroom. The explosion sent wood splintering in all direction.

"Knives!"

I rolled out into the street and began firing my weapon. I would have gotten the drop on most men. Most men would have fallen over dead in the street, all of my slugs lodged firmly in their chest. Most men would be dead.

But Vash the Stampede is not most men.

He jumped out of the way and took cover behind a building. He stuck his gun around the corner, careful not to expose to much of himself, and began raining hot lead down upon me. But even such an expert marksmen as the Humanoid Typhoon and shoot around corners. But I can.

I tense the particular muscles in my arm. I pull it forward from behind my back, and give a gentle twist of my wrist which fires the specific nerve endings in my finger tips. I do it once. Twice. Three times. Faster than a person can blink. I watch as the bullets soar through the air, and bend around the curvature of the building.

"Ahh!"

The screams of pain emanating from his throat give me such elation I can barely contain myself. I do it three more times and I hear him cry out once more. Then I listen to the thudding of boots on the sand as he runs back behind another house.

"Vash! Vash are you ok."

The mousy little woman comes running to the aid of the killer. I can only assume that they are in love. Such a strange thing , love. I have never know love, and I doubt I ever will. I decide to deal with the little woman. I would have liked to rape her in front of Vash, but as long as she dies and he suffers it is of not great concern.

"He's dying woman. Just like you are."

I raise my weapon.

"Meryl!"

I put my finger around the trigger.

"Vash!"

But before I can pull it I feel a searing pain in my arm. I take my gaze off the woman and look to see why the gun hasn't fired yet. Only then do I realize that I'm not holding the gun anymore. I'm not holding 

anything because there is nothing where my hand should be. There's nothing but a bloody stump where my elbow used to be.

Then another shot rings out and everything goes black. I reach up and I can feel the blood pouring down my face, and I can smell the smoke as the flesh around my eyes burns. I can't see. Why is everything so dark.

Things are going in and out now. I see flashes and colors. I look to where I heard the shots. During a flash I see the serious man. Vash's brother. How careless of me to not check and see if he was dead. He's raising his gun again. No doubt to finish me off.

"Knives! Knives no!"

The shots ring out, and I feel three bullets bore their way into my chest. I feel the warm blood bubble up in my throat and it makes me want to vomit.

I collapse. Teacher lied to me. I am not beyond life. I am not the desert.

I am miserable. And my miserable life will end in the very same place my miserable life began.


	5. A Beginning

My head reels.

I hear voices.

"He's alive!"

"We'll I'll see to that."

"No! No you won't Mr. Knives!"

I can still smell things.

I can still smell the faint scent of Vash's gunpowder, as well as his brothers. I smell the stench of July's livestock. But it's overwhelmed by that of the girl with the eyes. She smells good. Like perfume, but not the cheap kind the whores used to wear.

I feel like dying. Oh how easy that would be. My wounds are bad. My trigger hand, or my trigger arm I should say, is gone. I'm blind at the least. Multiple chest wounds. It would be oh so easy to let it all go. The pain. The anger. Just let everything go.

But for some odd reason I can't. Maybe it's survival instinct, who knows.

I try to sit up but I feel a hand push me back down. It's big, but soft. Like a woman's. But no the kind who mean's to hurt me. I forgot what that was like.

Maybe the end isn't so bad. A kind woman's touch isn't the worst way to go.

I try to sit up again, then darkness.


End file.
